Knock Back, Relax And Pull The Trigger

Knock back and relax,
Hello my dearest of you!
Feel the buildup as bullets soar through the air, whipping up swirls in my dreams,
Don't stop as the Oedipus in us bays for more mothers to love,I'm eating snuff films for lunch
I've just got home from a function than ran till eternity dimmed and wavered,
I've surrendered all my love and left my guns at home,
I've wasted and bit at my knuckles in vain as my dreams seem a reality based nightmare,
Each perception stands and burns at the gates of hell, black orchids exists for blind men
I dream of being deaf, dumb and blind but I'd still work hard at being a sinner,
A shotgun fires into the darkness of my throat and a firework of crimson glory erupts form the back of my head that would even make Piccaso grimace at its ineffectual abstract beauty.
A spray of blood on my wall, chips of bone and skull that resemble art, my art.
Arterial subconcious sunburnt desires extinguish in this visual escapade,
This scene plays and reenacts in a drama with a smidgen of insincere tragedy,
The clock hands stand at a quarter to fame, an eternity captured in an eruption of relief,
My trigger finger curled and cocked at the lynchpin of release, lock and load hallelujah.
Facial equity and liabilities are erased as time stands still and the crimson wound, both entry and exit compete for your attention, wonder will tears be in my eyes?
Cry not for the dead as they hold more promise than the living,
My hearse should be black and the gun carriage red, bury me with the shells that released me and gave me myself back.
I'm made of a thousand quivering ecstatic blades wrapped around a cold steel heart manufactured in anxiety wrought hate.
I'm watching my own funeral proceed at a wondrously eternal pace, a 12 gauge triumph
A life taker but a soul giver, Bless the damned as they need it the most.
A weeping tree has branches that bleed the tears of those that perceive love as a need,
MY tree of hate has branches that constantly feed my fire, it loves lead scented blood
A perfume washes over the scene as the diamonds that were once cried turn into satin stars;
My dream is of my death, it comes on beating thumping wing beats, ready or not!
Bid me adieu! Bid me my death, you're only blessing the damned.

The comfort of being distraught, sure as death is more consistent than joy.
I'm a hero at being a zero!
AND you are?